


i'm wearing my heart like a crown

by caniculeo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Background Sunaosa, Confessions, Drunken Confessions, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Time Skip, atsuhina are both stupid, atsuhina bffs to lovers i guess?, author apologizes for being h word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26487166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caniculeo/pseuds/caniculeo
Summary: Within two months of joining the MSBY Black Jackals, Hinata Shouyou has effectively become Atsumu’s new best friend.for the atsuhina exchange. prompt: drunken confessions
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 70
Kudos: 788
Collections: AtsuHina Exchange





	i'm wearing my heart like a crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HuneyThirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuneyThirst/gifts).



> hi to my giftee! so i took your "drunken confessions" prompt and it kinda really ran away from me, but i hope you enjoy it regardless! 
> 
> title from [the great pretender](https://open.spotify.com/track/7m1JSCGnmorA3tjtWJpDj4?si=25EGAyhXQTullEb2neD_uw).

Within two months of joining the MSBY Black Jackals, Hinata Shouyou has effectively become Atsumu’s new best friend. 

Atsumu hadn’t been expecting anything close to this, not at all. But Hinata had re-entered his life like some form of enhanced, concentrated sunshine, running up to him and grinning: _it’s so good to see you again, Atsumu-san!_ Atsumu, like most people, has always been weak to anyone who looks at him like he’s hung the moon, so he’d been taken with Hinata almost right away. Hinata’s admiration had been sincere as well, and they’d hit it off on day one, excitedly chatting to each other about old times late into the night. 

It still surprises Atsumu, how well they get on. They’d never talked too much in high school, had only regarded each other from across the net. Now, though, they’re so close that they tick the rest of the team off. _Hey,_ Hinata will say, whispering into Atsumu’s ear on the bus, _Meian-san drools when he sleeps_ , and they’ll both break into fits of giggles until Meian wakes up and snarls, _Hinata! Miya! It’s four AM! Be quiet!_ Of course, they’ll comply—captain’s orders—but all it takes is two seconds of prolonged eye contact before they start laughing again, after which Sakusa turns around and spritzes them both with water: _shut your filthy mouths; I’m trying to sleep._

So, yeah. Atsumu has a new best friend. Someone to hang out with on weekends and evenings, someone who’ll laugh at all his jokes and hit all his sets and race him to the water fountain during breaks. And this—this had all been well and good. But like most things that are well and good in Atsumu’s life, there’s a caveat. 

“What?” Osamu’s voice is a little staticky over the phone, but his glee is still palpable. “You have a crush on _who_ , now?” 

Atsumu furiously turns down his volume. “Yell louder, why don’t you?” he hisses. “And I just said I _might_ like him—I don’t know yet—”

“I mean, you’re calling me,” Osamu says. “I’d say it’s pretty much official.” He laughs, the bastard. “Wait. Didn’t you say he was one of your best friends like—two weeks ago?”

“He _is_ ,” Atsumu says, despairing.

“Oh,” Osamu says. “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, running a hand through his hair. “Yikes.” 

“So,” Osamu says, more solemnly, “what do you wanna do about it?”

A beat of silence. “I don’t know,” Atsumu says. “I just—I wanted to tell you.” 

Osamu does not tease him. It’s a comfort, a reassurance for either of them to tell each other things like this. “Well,” he begins, sounding like he’s picking his words, “you did say you weren’t really sure yet, right? Why don’t you wait a bit? See what happens, how you feel. Maybe it’ll wear off in a bit—I’ve heard that Hinata just has this effect on people.”

It sounds so simple coming from Osamu. Atsumu can’t help but feel a little more encouraged. “Yeah,” he says, feeling a little more optimistic. “You’re right. I’ll try that.”

“Cool,” Osamu says. “Anything else before I go? Because I do have to go. I’m busy, y’know. Working man and all—”

“Alright, thanks,” Atsumu says, gratitude instantly replaced by annoyance, as it is wont to be with Osamu. “Bye.”

“Keep me posted,” Osamu says. “I _love_ your love life—”

Atsumu hangs up. 

“Atsumu-san!” 

Atsumu barely has time to react before Hinata tackle-hugs him. Even at the ripe, adult age of twenty-two, Hinata is almost puppy-like in his straightforward affection and honesty. It’s what makes him so magnetic, so easy to love for so many. That, and he’s hot as hell. Especially now, as he beams up at Atsumu, radiant. 

“Ah,” Atsumu says. He ruffles Hinata’s hair, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest. “Hey, Shouyou-kun.”

“Are you excited for the game tomorrow?” Hinata asks brightly. “I am!”

Atsumu grins. “You wanna show off that bad, huh?”

“What,” Hinata says, smiling back, “you don’t?” He drapes his arms over Atsumu’s shoulders, bouncing a little on his toes to give him fair warning, and then jumps onto Atsumu like he’s climbing a tree. It’s almost second nature for Atsumu to grip the underside of Hinata’s thighs to support him. 

“Ugh,” Atsumu says, shifting his hands so he doesn’t touch Hinata’s ass by accident, because—well. “You big baby.” 

Hinata laughs, holding on a little tighter, and Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat. 

This—this used to be fine. But recently, it’s become more than a little overstimulating, and Atsumu flushes at the feeling of Hinata’s legs wrapped around him. _Don’t respond,_ he tells his body. _Don’t you fucking dare respond._

“Ugh,” Sakusa says, from the other side of the changeroom. He turns around. “Captain,” he calls, “they’re doing that thing again.”

“Hinata, Miya,” Meian calls tiredly from behind them, “no PDA please, we’ve talked about this—”

“They’re just jealous,” Hinata says into Atsumu’s ear, jokingly. He lets go of Atsumu anyways, landing softly back on the floor, and Atsumu can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed. But then Hinata takes Atsumu’s hand instead, making a thrill run through his entire body. “Come on, then! Let’s warm up together.”

Atsumu swallows. Hinata’s hand is warm. “Okay.”

“Captain,” Sakusa says, irritated. “They’re _holding hands_.”

Meian sighs. “I can’t do anything else, Sakusa,” he says. “Just close your eyes or something.”

Atsumu barely hears them, too busy staring at their linked hands. He lets Hinata lead him out of the changeroom, feeling unreasonably flustered and ecstatic. _It’s just hands,_ he thinks furiously. _Just holding hands. We do this sometimes._ And yet. God, he hasn’t even blushed this hard during sex. 

The evidence is stacking up. Atsumu despairs. 

_See what happens_ , Osamu had said. And this—this is what’s happening. 

The first time Atsumu had felt an inkling of anything _more_ for Hinata was when they’d been hanging out at his apartment, watching a movie. They’d sat side by side, close enough to touch—neither of them are particularly shy with physical contact. But as he’d felt Hinata laugh against him, Atsumu had been struck by a sudden thought, so vague and fuzzy around the edges it’d felt more like instinct: _I want to be closer._ He’d ignored it in the moment, dismissed it as a fleeting, one-time slip of his mind. 

Unfortunately for Atsumu, it never really leaves. From then on, it consumes him—an insatiable want that makes him greedy no matter what he’s given. If Hinata stays over for a night, Atsumu wants him for the entire weekend. If Hinata takes his hand, then Atsumu wants to hold him close. And if Hinata hugs him, then Atsumu feels the shameful urge to take that beautiful face in his hands and kiss Hinata full on the mouth. With tongue. And teeth. And everything. 

Hmm. So maybe Atsumu hadn’t been quite honest with himself about his feelings: he definitely has at least— _at least_ —a crush on Hinata. Can you blame him? Who the hell wants to be in love with their best friend? Atsumu is pretty sure that no matter how many stupid movies or novels say otherwise, being in love with your best friend does not end well. Worst comes to worst, you break your heart _and_ lose a friend. Buy one, get one free. Hurray. What a fucking deal. 

Already, the yearning and anxiety and horniness that comes with this type of mess are making Atsumu miserable. There’s truly a special brand of guilt that comes with jerking off to your new best friend. Unfortunately for Atsumu, it never seems to be enough to actually get him to stop. This makes post-orgasmic clarity his new worst enemy: nothing quite like coming down from an amazing high and feeling intense self-loathing. Nothing except maybe the shame of seeing the object of your affections—who happens to be the kindest, most wholesome person in your entire life—and knowing you got off to the thought of railing him. 

Let it be known: Miya Atsumu loves his life. He absolutely fucking loves it. Viva la vida, or whatever. 

“Atsumu-san?” Hinata sounds concerned. He reaches out to cradle Atsumu’s cheek with a palm. “You don’t look too good these days.”

They’re standing outside the gym after practice, taking a moment for themselves before they go their separate ways. Atsumu looks down at Hinata, trying to ignore the furious blush in his cheeks. Recently, he’s come to the realization that he _hates_ blushing. He’s decisively anti-blush. It’s the most useless bodily function he can think of. Then again, it diverts some of the blood that would otherwise go to his dick, so pros and cons, he supposes. 

“I’m alright,” he says, putting on a smile. He takes Hinata’s hand, moving it away from his face—it’s all too much. “Just tired.”

Hinata hums, sympathetic. “Not sleeping well?”

 _Thanks to you_ , Atsumu thinks. He just shakes his head. “Nah. But it’s fine, I—” 

Hinata is already turning around to rummage in his bag. “Wait,” he says. “I’m sure it’s here—ah!” He pulls out a small, thin volume, titled _Basic Sleep Medicine_ , and presses it into Atsumu’s hand. “Maybe this’ll help!”

“Ah,” Atsumu says, taking it. He’s never been much of a book person, though he supposes it’s worth a try. “Thanks, Shouyou-kun.”

Hinata beams up at him. “I’ve gotta go see my parents today,” he says. “But let’s hang out tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright,” Atsumu says, mouth dry. “See you.”

“Bye!” Hinata says, and leaves, a spring in his step. Atsumu watches him turn the corner. A few moments later, his phone vibrates. He pulls it out, only to see Hinata sending him a series of texts about sleep techniques and a _feel better, atsumu-san!_

Atsumu doesn’t know why, but he tears up. 

_Fuck_ , he thinks, wiping at his eyes. _I’m in love, aren’t I?_

Of course he is. Miya Atsumu, everyone. In love with his best friend after three short, short months. Please, keep him in your thoughts and prayers. He needs it.

As soon as the realization hits, swift and damning, Atsumu reaches out to Osamu. Texts him, half-desperate: _hey I’m in town I’m coming over I need advice_

 _come after ten at night,_ Osamu texts, and Atsumu shows up at nine-thirty. He punches in the door code and enters the apartment, which is seemingly empty, so he barges into Osamu’s bedroom. It’s dark, almost pitch black—God, he never remembers where the light switch in this room is. 

“Tsumu,” comes Osamu’s exasperated voice from the vicinity of his bed, “I told you to come _after_ ten—what part of that did you not—”

“Listen,” Atsumu says, “I’m actually in love with Shouyou-kun.”

“Okay,” says Osamu, “but can you _please_ get out. Just give me five minutes. Five.”

“I just—I don’t know what to do, I—”

Osamu sighs. “Tsumu—”

“Oh, _boohoo_ ,” comes another voice from the darkness, irritated. Atsumu almost jumps. “Hinata Shouyou makes your dick hard. You’re not special. Go join his fan club or something.”

“Who—” Atsumu squints. “Suna? Is that you?”

A huff. “Yeah, it’s me. Get the hell out. We’re still naked.”

“Gross,” Atsumu says, disgusted. He backs away almost immediately, suddenly aware of what the bed was just recently used for.

“I tried to warn you, dipshit,” Osamu mutters. “Just—wait outside. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Alright, alright,” Atsumu says, and leaves quickly, in no hurry to see what a post-coital Osamu and Suna look like. He sits at the table in the kitchen, waiting. 

After a few moments, Osamu enters, thankfully clothed. He settles down next to Atsumu. 

“Alright,” Osamu says. “So you’re into him. For real.”

“I’m _so_ into him,” Atsumu says, despairing. “It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“Everything about you is fucking embarrassing,” Osamu says, “but do go on.”

Atsumu is so frazzled that he lets the insult slide. “I just—” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just can’t stop thinking about him that way. Actually, I just can’t stop thinking about him, period.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Suna asks, coming in from the bedroom. He yawns. “That’s just a part of liking someone. You’ve liked people before.”

“You don’t _understand_ ,” Atsumu says, whipping around to look at Suna, who jumps. “Not like this. I wanna fucking buy an apartment with him and rescue _cats_ together!”

“So?”

“I don’t even like cats!” Atsumu puts his head in his hands. “God, I’m going crazy—”

Osamu looks unfazed. “Calm down, Tsumu,” he says. “You’re batshit in love. It sucks. We get it.” Atsumu bristles at how condescending he sounds. “The question is—what do you wanna do about it?” 

“I wanna cry,” Atsumu says.

Suna rolls his eyes, sitting down next to Osamu. “He means after that,” he says. “Like—do you wanna confess?” Atsumu shakes his head furiously. Confessing runs the risk of rejection, which would wreck him entirely. He’d rather die. “Oh. Why not? Isn’t there a possibility he could like you back?”

Atsumu scoffs. “Have you _seen_ him?” he says. 

“Well,” Osamu says, “not to be too egotistical, but I’d say you aren’t bad-looking either.”

“It’s not just that,” Atsumu says. He sighs. “It’s… everything. And if he did like me, I’m sure he’d say something. And he hasn’t, so.”

“Well,” says Osamu. “You aren’t saying anything, either, and you’re totally whipped.”

“I—”

“Wow, you’re right, Atsumu,” Suna says, scrolling through his phone. “Hinata’s really hot now. Look.” He holds out his phone for them to see a picture of Hinata pulling up the hem of his jersey to wipe his neck, revealing a truly magnificent torso. Not that Atsumu hasn’t seen him do it, but it’s only ever been an instant, never frozen in time for him to gape at like this. 

Atsumu’s mouth goes dry. “Where’d you get this? What is it?”

“It was on a fanpage,” Suna says. He keeps scrolling, showing Hinata after beautiful Hinata. “Why? Does it turn you on? I can link you; I just found it on Google.”

Atsumu resists the images’ temptation and glares at Suna, pushing his hand away. “Fuck you.”

“God, don’t give Tsumu more material,” Osamu says. “He probably spends half his free time on Hinata’s Instagram page already, doing God knows what.”

“I mean,” Suna says, grinning wickedly, “I think we all know what he’s doing.” 

The two of them burst into laughter. Atsumu glares at them, irritated. Now they’re just screwing with him for fun. Ladies and gentlemen, his friends and family. Supportive and loving and definitely not complete assholes.

“I hate you both,” he mutters mutinously.

“He’s not denying it,” Osamu says to Suna, chortling. 

Atsumu huffs. “Would you believe me if I did?”

“No,” says Suna. 

“For the record,” Atsumu says, “whatever you think I do, I _don’t_.” Well, at least not often. Actively pulling up an image and getting down to business makes him feel way too guilty. He sees Hinata almost every day, anyways—his imagination is more than enough by now. God, he’s a degenerate. 

“Okay, Tsumu,” Osamu says, grinning. “Tsumu, okay.”

Atsumu ignores him. “Like I was _saying_ , I don’t wanna confess to him,” he says, looking down at his hands. “I don’t—I don’t wanna be in love with him in the first place.” His voice breaks. “He’s my friend. My teammate. I can’t do that.” 

“So… what are you gonna do?” Suna asks.

Atsumu thinks. “Fall out of love with him,” he finally says. 

Suna and Osamu scoff simultaneously, like they share a hive mind or something. Atsumu wouldn’t be surprised at this point. Love is a hell of a drug.

“You can’t just stop liking someone,” Osamu says. “That’s not how it works.”

“The hell I can’t,” says Atsumu. “Married people do it so often.” 

“Not on _purpose_ —”

“I probably just like him so much because I see him _all_ the time,” Atsumu says, almost feverishly. “It’s just the—uh, what do they call it? Mere exposure?” 

Suna rolls his eyes. “But _why_ do you see him all the time?” he asks. “Isn’t it because you like him? Maybe you should consider—”

Atsumu shushes him. “I don’t need your negativity right now,” he says, and Suna sighs, throws his hands up: _do whatever the hell you want._ “I can do this. I just—I’ll just have to see him less. Avoid him for a bit. Then this whole stupid thing will blow over, and we can go back to being normal.” 

Suna raises an eyebrow, sharing a skeptical glance with Osamu. Fucking couples. God, Atsumu hates them.

“I think it’s a dumb idea,” Osamu says, finally.

“I think I’m gonna do it,” says Atsumu. 

“Of course you are,” Osamu says. “Hold on. Why did you come over again?” He pulls out his phone, scrolls up on what is presumably their conversation. “Oh, right. For _advice_. That you aren’t currently taking.”

“What _ever,_ thanks for having me—”

“What about Hinata?” Suna asks. “You don’t think you’ll hurt his feelings by avoiding him?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Atsumu says, already getting up and preparing to leave. “I’ll be subtle about it. And he’s got other friends to hang out with.” Of course, it makes him more than a little jealous, but what’s there to be done? He makes his way to the door, Osamu and Suna trailing him. 

“Well, if you say so,” Suna says, dubious. 

Osamu sighs. “This is gonna be a shitshow.”

“Hey,” Atsumu says, glaring at Osamu while putting on his shoes. “Don’t need _your_ negativity, either.”

“You’re an idiot, Tsumu,” Osamu says.

“Bite me,” Atsumu says. “Or rather, bite Suna. I’m sure he’s into that. Bye. Love you both.”

“Good riddance,” says Osamu. 

“Hey,” Suna says. “I’ll text you the link later. You’re welcome.”

Atsumu flips both of them the bird and promptly leaves. It’s nice to finally have a plan.

He starts putting everything into action the day after. It’s official now: he’s avoiding Hinata. This means no more weekend or evening hangouts at either of their apartments, no texting each other every other minute. No hand-holding or curling up with each other on the bus. Or _doing that thing_ , as Sakusa so eloquently puts it. Atsumu weans himself off of everything with all the dedication of an athlete. 

And here’s the thing. It might actually be working. Seeing Hinata less means that Atsumu doesn’t think of dating him during every waking moment. Sometimes, he even thinks about normal things, like carrots. And then he circles back to Hinata, because carrots are orange, and so is Hinata’s hair. But hey, it’s an improvement, right?

The best thing? Hinata doesn’t notice, not one bit. Atsumu feels admittedly guilty about the whole debacle, but he always apologizes silently whenever he avoids Hinata: _just give me a little time, Shouyou-kun. Then we’ll go back to normal._

One evening, the team goes out for drinks, like they usually do at least once a month. Atsumu makes preparations: at practice beforehand, he calls over Sakusa and Bokuto, as discreetly as possible. Bokuto approaches him with curiosity, Sakusa with apprehension. 

“I need a favour,” Atsumu says, and Sakusa turns to leave. “And I’ll pay you.” Sakusa turns back around.

“Well?” he says. 

“I want you two to sit next to Shouyou-kun tonight,” Atsumu says, voice low. “And make sure he doesn’t come talk to me.” 

Bokuto frowns. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Sakusa says.

“I—it’s a long story,” Atsumu says. And embarrassing, but he doesn’t say that. 

A moment of silence. “How much are you paying us?” Sakusa finally asks.

“Five thousand yen,” Atsumu says. 

Sakusa shakes his head. “Six thousand.” 

Atsumu sighs. “Whatever.”

“And the full story!” Bokuto adds, excited. 

“Fine, fine!” Atsumu says, exasperated. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Do we have a deal?”

Bokuto grins and shakes Atsumu’s hand. His grip is way too strong for the experience to be pleasant. Sakusa simply nods, never one to touch Atsumu unless in the case of an emergency or something. And perhaps not even then. 

Later on, the two of them end up doing their job well. From the other end of the table, sandwiched between an enthusiastic Adriah and Inunaki, Atsumu watches Hinata laugh, rosy-cheeked, at something Bokuto says. Atsumu bites his lip—he knows the whole point of this is to not let Hinata notice, but he’s just a tiny bit hurt at how well Hinata seems to be adapting to life without him. Sulky, Atsumu engages in half-hearted conversation with his neighbours and sips on his beer slowly, not quite in the mood to drink. 

He seems to be the only one, though. By the end of the night, almost everyone is at least a little shitfaced. Surprisingly, Hinata is perhaps the most wasted of all, basically passed out with his head down on the table while Bokuto and Sakusa argue on either side of him, both essentially incoherent.

“Hey,” Meian says, from behind Atsumu. “You and Hinata are close. You know where he lives, right?”

Atsumu freezes. “I mean. Kind of.” He’s lying. He’s been to Hinata’s place so often he could get there blindfolded. 

“If it’s nearby, can you take him?” Meian asks. He sighs. “I’m thinking that we should call it a night, and everyone else is way too drunk.”

“I—” Atsumu doesn’t want to. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to. He’s trying to _avoid_ Hinata, for fuck’s sake. But then he sees Hinata out of the corner of his eye, and can’t help but care so much that it hurts. “Okay,” he says, because he’s a thirsty, pathetic masochist, and because once in a while, he does actually try to be a good friend. 

“Thanks,” Meian says, looking relieved, and walks over to Hinata, Atsumu trailing after him. He pokes Hinata on the forehead. Hinata looks up, bleary-eyed and flushed. Adorable. “Come on, kid,” Meian says gently. “Miya’s taking you home.”

Hinata squints at Atsumu, probably trying to focus his vision. Atsumu’s heart clenches at the cuteness of it all. “Miya-san?” Hinata mumbles. And then he brightens. “Oh! Atsumu-san!”

Atsumu doesn’t even have time to prepare before Hinata gets to his feet—so violently that he flips his chair over—and launches himself right into Atsumu’s arms, holding him close. It’s embarrassing how fast Atsumu’s face turns red. He turns, trying not to look Meian in the eye. 

“Hey, Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu says awkwardly, patting Hinata on the head a few times. Hinata rubs his face into Atsumu’s jacket like a purring cat, smiling. “Let’s go, then. I’m taking you back.”

“Okay!” Hinata says brightly. He hugs Atsumu even tighter.

At the table, Bokuto and Sakusa finally seem to snap out of their drunken focus, and turn to look at Atsumu and Hinata together. Sakusa makes to get out of his seat, and Bokuto frowns, apparently confused: _what are you doing_? Atsumu waves them down— _don’t worry about it anymore—_ and they stay where they are, looking perplexed _._

Already getting hit with the full force of his unwelcome infatuation, Atsumu grits his teeth and bids farewell to a very tired-looking Meian. Atsumu makes his way out with Hinata clinging to him, warm and solid. Hinata is smiling. His eyes are closed in bliss, satisfaction; Atsumu doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen Hinata this happy. 

“Atsumu-san,” Hinata keeps saying, voice tinged with laughter. “Atsumu-san! Atsumu-san.”

“What?” Atsumu finally demands, his heart rate a little too high for him to respond more civilly. “What do you want?”

Hinata grins up at him. “Nothing,” he says, sing-song. “Nooothing.” 

Thankfully, there aren’t many people out and about at this time of night, and they make it to Hinata’s apartment in one piece. Atsumu punches in the door code with unnecessary force, cursing the universe, drunk (and adorable) Hinata, and his own traitorous heart. God, it’s like the last few weeks have all been for nothing.

Together, they enter the dark entryway of Hinata’s apartment. Atsumu turns on the light. 

“Hey, want some water?” he asks Hinata gently.

Hinata shakes his head, still clinging to Atsumu like the cutest burr in the entire world. 

Atsumu sighs. “I’m getting you water. Let go of me unless you want me to drag you into the kitchen—” 

“Atsumu-saaaaan,” Hinata bursts out, petulant, “why don’t you pay attention to me anymore?“

Atsumu panics, blushes, swallows. _Oh, god, he noticed. He noticed._ “I—”

“You used to be so—so _nice_ to me,” Hinata continues, much too loudly for this time of night. “And then—and then you just—” He looks truly dejected, eyes wide and imploring, and it stabs Atsumu right through the heart. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong? If I did, just _say something_ , I—”

“No, no,” Atsumu says. He exhales. “No, Shouyou-kun, it’s not you. You didn’t do anything.” 

Hinata brightens. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says. He tries to extricate himself from Hinata’s beautiful arms, because he’s starting to feel guilty about how much he’s enjoying the hug. “Come on, you should go to bed.”

Hinata does not budge. “Wait,” he says, mystified. “Atsumu-san, if… if it’s not me, then what is it?”

“I—” There isn’t really an easy way to say that Atsumu is so head over heels for Hinata that his chest has started to hurt whenever Hinata so much as smiles in his direction. That he can’t do anything about it besides avoid the source of the pain, which just happens to be Hinata himself. “It’s me,” he says, eventually. “I’m just… I’m just going through something. It’s not your fault.”

“Oh,” Hinata says, sounding concerned. “I’m sorry.”

“I just said, it’s not your fault—”

“Can I help?” Hinata asks. 

“No, no,” Atsumu says, a little frantic. “No, it’s fine. Thanks. I’ll work it out eventually—”

“When?”

“What?”

“When are you going to work it out?”

“I—I don’t know. A while, I think. Shouyou-kun, you should really go to bed.”

Hinata ignores his suggestion. “Do you think you’ll feel better in two weeks?” he asks. “That’s a while, right?”

“I mean—” Atsumu sighs. “Sure,” he says, resigned. He just wants Hinata to sleep. “Two weeks.”

“And then you’ll be nice again?” Hinata asks, standing on his tiptoes. He’s beginning to smile, hopeful. 

“I’ll try, I guess—”

“Yay!” Hinata exclaims, laughing. He laughs nice when he’s drunk, too. “That’s—that’s great, Atsumu-san. Because I miss you! The normal you. And I miss you, because—because I like you!” Atsumu feels himself blushing so hard that he grows faint. _He means platonically, you stupid idiot. Platonically._ “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favourite teammate, you know? So—I really like you. Really.” 

Atsumu really needs to put an end to this. “Shouyou-kun—”

Hinata releases the hug and takes Atsumu’s hands in his own, gazing down at them. “I like this about you,” he says. This isn’t really news—Atsumu knows Hinata is fond of his setting. But then Hinata reaches up, cradling Atsumu’s face with his hands. “And this!”

“What,” Atsumu croaks. “My face?” That’s not exactly reassuring to hear. Osamu has the same one, after all. 

“Well, yes,” Hinata says, excited, “but also what’s behind it, too!” He pats Atsumu’s head. “The way you _think_! I don’t care what people say, I think you’re smart and funny and _everything_ , Atsumu-san—”

“Alright,” Atsumu says, hurriedly putting a hand over Hinata’s mouth and pushing him away. His heart is pounding; he can only take so much. “That’s enough.”

Hinata’s eyes are wide and surprised. He doesn’t look too miffed at being silenced, though. For a few moments, they stay there like that, locked in a standstill. That is, until Atsumu feels a flick of something warm and wet on his palm.

“What the—” He jerks back. “Shouyou-kun, did you just _lick_ me?”

Hinata laughs, gleeful, and takes this opportunity to escape into his bedroom. Atsumu watches him leave and then stares at his palm, more than a little stunned. After a moment, he shakes himself— _get it together, Tsumu—_ and gets a glass of water from the kitchen before making his way over to Hinata. 

The bedroom is dark save for the thin, pale light filtering in from the open window, and Atsumu can barely make out the shape of Hinata lying on his bed. Hinata sits up almost immediately when he sees Atsumu approaching. 

“Hey,” Atsumu says, trying to sound calm. He settles down on the side of the bed, holds out the water. “Drink this.”

“Do I _have_ to?”

Atsumu sighs. “ _Drink it._ ” 

“Fine, fine,” Hinata says, almost petulant, and takes the proffered glass. He spills half of it down his shirt, but at least some of it makes it into his mouth. When finished, he places the glass on the nightstand, then promptly pulls Atsumu into bed with him. 

Atsumu is too surprised to struggle. Hinata’s arms are wrapped around his waist, his chest pressed against Atsumu’s back. He is warm and wonderful and solid, if a little wet, and this is dredging up every single feeling Atsumu has ever felt for Hinata. He can’t do this; it’s too much. It’s been too much since Hinata had clung to him at the bar, had looked at him with stars in his eyes. Atsumu is a broken man. 

“Shouyou-kun,” he croaks, mouth dry. “I can’t stay, I—” 

Hinata shifts, holding Atsumu a little tighter. “Don’t go,” he murmurs. “Please, Atsumu-san. Don’t go.”

It sounds almost like a plea. Like he is begging. Atsumu swallows and closes his eyes. Tries to push his own pain aside. “Okay,” he says shakily. “Okay. Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.” 

Hinata sighs, seemingly satisfied. They lie there together in the dark. Atsumu can hear Hinata’s breaths grow more even, can feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it—after all, he’s effectively being spooned by the love of his life. But the guilt of enjoying it kind of ruins the whole experience. 

_You’ll laugh about this in the morning,_ Atsumu keeps telling himself through his nerves. _You’ll laugh, you’ll laugh—_

Behind him, Hinata is blissfully passed out. Atsumu, on the other hand, barely sleeps that night. Mostly, he just lies there, half-turned on and half-despairing, contemplating the nature of divine retribution. 

Atsumu does end up passing out eventually, and when he wakes up, Hinata is nowhere to be found. He stumbles groggily out of the empty apartment, absently wondering where Hinata might’ve gone—it’s pretty early. Breakfast hours. Atsumu pulls out his phone, only to read a single message from Hinata, uncharacteristically brief: _sorry, i had to go somewhere_ :(

 _no worries,_ he texts back. _glad ur ok._ At least Hinata hasn’t been kidnapped or anything. But he’s not sure how to proceed: are they just pretending last night didn’t happen? Maybe Hinata is one of those drunks who don’t remember a thing. Either way, Atsumu’s cover is blown—perhaps he had never really had one. 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Should he apologize? He’s certainly hurt Hinata more than enough. But if he did, then he’d have to explain why he was avoiding Hinata in the first place, which is a discussion he really doesn’t want to have. Atsumu’s still deliberating when his phone goes off again. 

It’s Bokuto: _hey!!! we’re outside your apartment! are you not home?_

Atsumu frowns, exasperated. _why tf are you at my apartment?_

 _u promised us yesterday that you’d tell us the whole story, rmb?_ And then, _sakusa’s here too. he says ur rude to make us wait_

God, what is up with his teammates? Why are they so bizarre? Not for the first time, Atsumu finds himself longing for his high school days, when he and Osamu had been considered the wild cards of the team. 

_when did i ever tell u guys to come over???_ he texts furiously. _and it’s nine in the morning?_

A pause. _does that mean we should go home?_

Atsumu sighs, resigned. _i’ll be there in twenty, wait if u want_

With that, he puts his phone away and walks out into the daylight, putting some zip in his step. Bokuto and Sakusa are a volatile mix at the best of times, and Atsumu isn’t too keen on the two of them unsupervised outside his apartment. 

“You’re in love _with Hinata_? Our Hinata?”

Bokuto’s eyes are wide. He looks simultaneously shocked and delighted, sitting on the edge of the couch like he’s watching an action film. 

“Where’s the charger for this?” Sakusa asks, from next to the television. He holds up one of Atsumu’s PS4 controllers, which he had just recently disinfected. “It’s dying.”

Atsumu is already getting a headache. “Bokkun, could you please not yell?” he says, mortified but also too tired to truly feel anything. “I have neighbours. And the charger's next to the console.”

Bokuto is still vibrating in his seat. “And—and you stayed over with him last night?” 

“I mean—” Atsumu squirms. “He kind of… dragged me into bed and passed out.” Sakusa laughs—so he _is_ actually listening. Atsumu glares at him. 

“What’s the point of paying us for all that if you were just going to self-sabotage?” Sakusa asks, plugging in the controller. 

“I was _helping out a friend_ ,” Atsumu says accusingly. “Why was Shouyou-kun drinking so much, anyways?”

Bokuto shrugs. “He said he just felt like it.”

“Probably because of you,” Sakusa says. “That’s why I drink, at any rate.” 

Atsumu flips him the bird. 

“So what’d Hinata say when you woke up?” Bokuto asks. “Was it awkward?”

“Nothing,” Atsumu says. “He wasn’t home. Apparently he had to go somewhere.”

Sakusa huffs. “Doubt it,” he says. “He was probably embarrassed or something. Morning after and all.”

“For the last time, we didn’t _do anything_ ,” Atsumu says, annoyed. 

“I mean, he basically confronted you about avoiding him,” Sakusa points out. He passes a controller to Bokuto, offers one to Atsumu. Atsumu shakes his head—he’s not quite in the mood. “Maybe he didn’t wanna talk about it first thing in the morning. Or ever, probably.” 

Atsumu frowns. “You think Shouyou-kun’s _avoiding_ me?” Hinata doesn’t seem like the type of person to avoid anything or anyone. Especially Atsumu. “Nah, he wouldn't—”

“That’s probably what he thought about you at first, too,” Bokuto says. Atsumu stares at his television screen, feeling like he’s been punched in the ribs. “But hey!” Bokuto adds hurriedly. “You don’t know! We don’t know. Maybe he really did have to go somewhere!” 

“Give it some time, Miya,” Sakusa says, uncharacteristically wise and non-vitriolic. “No point stressing about it now.” He offers the controller again, and this time, Atsumu takes it. 

_Shouyou-kun’s not avoiding me_ , Atsumu thinks, as Bokuto’s character grabs his and pushes it into the void. _He wouldn’t. Right_?

The short answer is yes. Yes, he would. From then on, Hinata avoids Atsumu like it’s his life’s purpose. He’s much less subtle about it than Atsumu is: he tends to flush whenever their eyes meet, and then he runs. Literally runs. Hinata does a lot of running away and not a whole lot of explaining, and at this point, Atsumu’s not even sure what kind of question to ask. 

Thankfully, they both have a silent agreement to keep up appearances on the court so their performances don’t suffer. That being said, Atsumu’s pretty sure that people are starting to notice: there are only so many times that Hinata can bolt out of the changing room before some eyebrows are raised. 

They also stop seeing each other entirely outside of practice, and Atsumu has never felt so empty. It’s like he has a hole in his chest. He tries to fill his time with other things, other people: music, video games, Bokuto and Sakusa. But it never quite works. Atsumu thinks about Hinata even more than before, and he’s also just downright miserable at this point. Maybe he deserves it for doing something so stupid in the first place. 

“Getting a taste of your own medicine, huh?” Osamu says, over the phone. He doesn’t sound completely unsympathetic, though.

“It’s shit medicine,” Atsumu says, despairing. “It’s fucking awful.”

Osamu hums. “I can imagine,” he says. 

“I miss Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu says, voice cracking. “I miss him, and I hate this.”

Osamu sighs. “You guys have gotta talk,” he says. “Tell each other the truth. You can’t go on like this forever—you play on the same team, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ugh,” Atsumu says, laying his head down. “I just—it’s so _hard._ Everything’s so messed up now.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Osamu says, “stop feeling sorry for yourself for a minute and _do something._ You’ve been moping for—ah, shit.” The sound of yelling in the back. “I’ve gotta go, Tsumu. Good luck, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m back in town.”

He hangs up. Atsumu puts the phone down and curls up on his bed. From where he is, he can see the book Hinata had lent him on his nightstand. He’d finished it a few days ago, but now he doesn’t know how he’ll return it. With a sigh, he turns to face the other side of the bed—out of sight, out of mind. 

Osamu’s right. Atsumu knows this. And yet he finds himself unable to take the first step, because he’s a goddamn coward. Instead, he spends most of his time second-guessing himself and talking at Sakusa and Bokuto while they engage in heated competition on his PS4. 

“—like... what the hell am I supposed to say to him, anyways?” Atsumu demands. He’s vaguely aware that he’s been on this rant numerous times by now, but he doesn’t really care. “Hey, are you guys even listening?”

“Well—” Bokuto begins. 

“No,” says Sakusa, not looking away from the screen.

“I’m listening,” Ushijima says. 

Atsumu turns to him, feeling like he’s looking at the saviour of men. Of course Ushijima would be a good, decent guy. And then he frowns. “Wait,” he says. “Why are you here, again?”

Ushijima shrugs. “Sakusa invited me,” he says. 

“But this is _my_ apartment,” Atsumu says. 

“He said I could come anyway,” Ushijima says. He tilts his head, ever polite. “Should I not be here?”

“No, I—” Atsumu groans. “You’re good, I just—” He whips around to glare to Sakusa, who gives him the deadpan equivalent of a shit-eating grin. “Omi-kun, at least fucking _ask_ before you bring people over to my place.”

“Was I wrong to do it, though?” Sakusa retorts. “He’s listening to you.”

He’s right. Ushijima looks politely concerned about Atsumu’s predicament. He just sits there on the couch, quiet and focused. Like a well-trained dog or something. 

“Yeah, Tsum-tsum! Ushiwaka’ll help you,” Bokuto says, grinning. “He’s smart! And a good person. He rides horses.”

“Rides horses?”

“Yeah, the animal.”

“No, I know what a _horse_ is—what’s that got to do with being a good person?”

Bokuto shrugs, turning back to focus on his game with Sakusa. Ushijima and Atsumu are left to sit in silence for a short moment. 

“Do you like horses?” Ushijima asks, finally.

“I don’t really think about them,” Atsumu says. Something about this conversation makes him feel like he’s dreaming. 

Ushijima nods. “You think about Hinata more.”

“Ugh,” Atsumu says, feeling embarrassment swamp him yet again. “No. No more Shouyou-kun. Talk to me about horses, Ushiwaka.”

“I only rode them in high school,” Ushijima says. “For class. I don’t know why they all think I’m a professional equestrian.”

“That’s fine,” Atsumu says. “Just—talk.”

And Ushijima turns out to be a pretty good guy, because he obliges. He talks about breeds and dressage and jumping and tack. By the time the sun has set, Atsumu’s learned at least three new words: _martingale, forelock, canter._

“Wow,” Atsumu says, genuinely impressed. “You know, I used to think that the horse did all of the work and the person kinda just sat there.”

Ushijima shrugs. “Technically, the horse does do most of the work,” he says. “But you can’t just sit there; you’ve gotta be active.” He tilts his head. “Did that help you feel better?” 

Atsumu thinks. “I’m still kind of miserable and whipped,” he eventually says. “But I think I do feel better. Thanks, Ushiwaka.”

“Anytime,” Ushijima says, looking satisfied. 

There’s moment of silence, save for Sakusa cursing at Bokuto. Atsumu sighs and returns to reality. Leaves the horses behind. 

“My brother says I should go talk to Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu says. “But neither of us wanna talk to each other. I’m scared, and he—he can’t even look me in the eye without doing a sixty-metre dash afterwards.” He smiles mirthlessly. Resigned. “This is so _stupid_. We’re adults, for fuck’s sake.”

Ushijima hums, thoughtful. “That does sound difficult,” he says. “But think of it this way. You’re going to have to do it, one way or another. I’m sure everything will feel better when you stop running.”

Atsumu sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. You and Samu. You’re both right.” He rests his head in his hand. “God, I wish I were a horse. I’d run from everything.”

“You know, horses only run when they have to,” Ushijima says. “They’re pretty smart animals.”

“Yeah, Tsum-tsum,” Bokuto says. He laughs. “Be a horse.”

Sakusa scoffs. “Who’d wanna ride him?”

“Hinata, hopefully!” Bokuto says, and breaks out into another peal of laughter. 

Atsumu flushes from equal parts embarrassment and anger. Sakusa snickers. Ushijima, however, remains stoic—he’s either missed the memo or he’s just the most considerate person on earth. He reaches out and pats Atsumu on the shoulder. 

“Miya,” Ushijima says, sounding completely earnest, “If you really were a horse, I’m sure you’d be a great one.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it. Maybe it’s his expression. Whatever it is, Atsumu suddenly feels like he can do anything at all. 

“Yeah,” he says. He nods, getting up from the couch. A plan is already forming in his head. “You know what? You’re right. I’d be an amazing horse. The best horse in the entire goddamn country.” He goes to his room and grabs Hinata’s book. 

“Where are you going?” Sakusa calls. 

Atsumu puts his phone in his pocket and makes his way to the door. “Out,” he says. “I’ve been putting this stupid thing off for way too long.” He puts on his shoes, feeling like a man possessed.

“Have fun, I guess,” Sakusa says. 

Atsumu opens his door, then turns back. His three guests are all staring at him, expectant. “Don’t screw up my apartment, or you’re paying,” he says. “And charge the controllers after you’re done with them.” 

“Good luck, horse!” Bokuto says, grinning. Ushijima nods, encouraging. 

Atsumu raises his head and steps out into the evening. 

Is it stupid to show up at Hinata’s place unannounced? Yes. Almost definitely. Does Atsumu do it anyway? Also yes. Unfortunately, things go a little differently than he’d thought they would, starting right from his knock at the door. Hinata doesn’t answer it; somebody else does. 

“Oh,” Kozume says, looking a little tired. “Miya.”

“Kozume,” Atsumu says, swallowing. “Hi.”

He’s met Kozume a couple times in passing. Soft-spoken and small even in adulthood, Kozume also manages to be strangely intimidating. Atsumu, for one, is terrified of him. The guy is probably playing four-dimensional chess in his head at any given moment. Not to mention, all that power and money means that he could wipe Atsumu off of the map if he ever felt like it.

“Thought you’d show up one of these days,” Kozume says. “Took you long enough.”

“What do you mean?”

Kozume shrugs. “Ask him yourself,” he says, and turns to call over his shoulder. “Shouyou, you have a guest!”

“What?” Hinata’s voice rings out from inside, cheerful. “Who?” 

“Just come,” Kozume calls.

The familiar sound of Hinata’s footsteps: quick, light. And then he’s there, stopping in his tracks, and his face takes on its familiar shade of red as he sees Atsumu. “Ah,” Hinata says weakly. “Atsumu-san. Hi.”

“Hi,” Atsumu says, suddenly feeling a lot less brave than before. “Can I—can I come in?”

“Oh. Sure.” Hinata moves aside to let Atsumu step in and close the door behind him, sticking close to Kozume. “Are you—are you planning on staying long, Atsumu-san?” he asks, uncharacteristically timid. 

Atsumu looks up in the middle of taking off his shoes. “Well—not if you don’t want me to,” he says. 

“I—” Hinata looks pained. “No, you can do whatever you want, I just… wasn’t expecting you.”

The admission hurts Atsumu, for some reason. Actually, everything about Hinata hurts him today: his obvious fear, his distance, his formality. 

“It’s okay,” Atsumu manages, voice hoarse. “This won’t take long. I just—I just wanted to return this.” He holds out the book. “I finished it. It helped a lot, so thanks.” 

“Oh,” Hinata says, taking it. “You didn’t have to, you know. It was a gift.” 

“It was?” Atsumu says stupidly. He shakes himself. “All the same.” 

“All the same,” Hinata echoes. There’s the smallest of sad smiles on his lips as he gazes at the book. “Well, thank you, Atsumu-san.” He sets it aside, exhales. “Was that it?” 

Atsumu swallows, his throat as dry as a desert. It’s now or never. “I, uh—I also kind of wanted to just talk.” Hinata’s expression immediately reverts to one of horror. “About us.”

“Here?” Hinata asks, obviously nervous. “Now?”

“Is—is there a problem?”

Hinata’s gaze darts to Kozume. “It’s just—I don’t think Kenma would like that very much—”

“No, I’m fine with it,” Kozume says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, expectant. Hinata looks utterly betrayed. “Just pretend I’m not here or something.” 

“Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu begins. _Calm down. Calm down._ “I—” Hinata’s gaze darts to the door behind him, so fast it’s almost imperceptible. But Atsumu catches it easily, and he feels a wave of frustration and sadness. “You just thought about running out of your apartment right now, didn’t you?” 

Hinata blinks, blushing even harder. “No? I mean, no! No, I didn’t—”

Atsumu almost feels like crying—he might be tearing up. “Why are you always running from me?”

“Because _—because I confessed to you when I was drunk_!” Hinata bursts out, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “And you obviously didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, so—”

“Hold on,” Atsumu says, reeling. “You—you confessed to me?”

“What, you don’t remember?” Hinata asks. “That night, when you brought me home—” 

Atsumu thinks back to that awful, wonderful night, and then he remembers: _I like this about you. I like you_. “Wait. Wait. That was a _confession_?” He blinks. “But why would you confess to me?”

“Because I was drunk!” Hinata says, looking a little hysterical. “And I was drunk because I was miserable about you avoiding me! I _like_ you, Atsumu-san, I like you so much that I probably love you, and I know I can’t force you to be my friend or anything when you so clearly don’t wanna be anymore, but it hurts, okay? It really, really hurts, and I was so lonely, and I—” He puts a hand over his eyes. “I just thought we were friends, at least. You could’ve been honest with me so I knew what I did wrong, or maybe you were just tired of me, or—”

Atsumu is overwhelmed, overcome. He hardly knows what he’s feeling. “Shouyou-kun,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“What are you—” 

Atsumu reaches out and pulls Hinata into a hug. Hinata stiffens for a second, but eventually relaxes into Atsumu’s chest. Atsumu’s heart is pounding, rabbit-quick, and he takes a deep, steadying breath, runs a hand through Hinata’s hair. They stay like that for a few moments, revelling in the once-familiar.

“Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu finally says, “I could never be tired of you.” 

“What do you _mean_?” Hinata demands, looking up at Atsumu. There are tears in his eyes. “Didn’t you come here today to cut me off?”

“What?” Atsumu blinks. It’s one curveball after another today. “Why would I—”

“The book,” Hinata says. “You don’t want me around you anymore, so you don’t want it anymore, either—”

 _Oh, god,_ Atsumu thinks, horrified. _I’m a fucking idiot_. “No! No, that’s not what that was about. I just—” He sighs. “Listen,” he says, gentling his voice, “I don’t wanna cut you off. And you didn’t do anything wrong. Please—believe me.” 

A moment of silence. “Oh,” Hinata finally says, very softly. “Okay.” 

“I just—I was avoiding you because I realized I like you,” Atsumu says. “A lot.” He swallows. “I’m in love with you, actually. And I didn’t wanna be, because I never thought you’d ever like me back.”

Hinata gazes at Atsumu like he’s really, truly hung the moon. His cheeks are flushed, lovely, his lips just slightly parted. “You’re in love with me,” he quietly. 

Atsumu swallows. “Yeah.” 

“Oh,” Hinata says. He fists a hand in Atsumu’s shirt unconsciously. “Oh.”

“I hurt you,” Atsumu says. “I’m sorry. I was stupid.” 

“You were,” Hinata says, his eyes bright and fierce. God, Atsumu loves him. “You were, but—” He exhales, looking Atsumu in the eye. “I’m still crazy about you, so what does that make me?” 

Atsumu’s heart is going to rabbit out of his chest. A full-body thrill runs through him, his already-oversensitive nerves sent into overdrive. 

“Shouyou-kun,” he says, voice hoarse, “can I kiss you?”

Hinata’s gaze flickers to Atsumu’s lips. He nods, once. Tiptoes. Tilts his face upwards, expectant and wanting and beautiful. 

Atsumu meets him in the middle. The kiss is chaste and gentle and sweet, like something out of a story. Atsumu wants to grab this moment and sear it into his memory forever—God, it’s just a kiss, and they aren’t even using tongue, but it’s everything he’s ever wanted, better than any dream he’s ever had. 

When they break apart, they’re both shaking a little, overwhelmed. Hinata’s gaze is focused, almost hungry. 

“Again,” he breathes. “Atsumu-san, again—” 

Atsumu obliges, covering Hinata’s mouth with his own, once, twice. They are both insatiable. _Again, again_. Their kisses begin to deepen, and Hinata’s arms eventually come to rest around Atsumu’s neck. Atsumu only has a fraction of a second of warning before Hinata jumps, wrapping his legs around Atsumu’s waist. He grips Hinata’s thighs and takes a few shaky steps forward until Hinata’s back hits the wall, and oh, it’s so much better like this, pressed flush against each other’s warmth. Hinata kisses with the same fervour he uses for volleyball: intense, aggressive, intoxicating. Atsumu loses himself in the feeling, is delighted in the fact that Hinata undoubtedly feels the same. God, he could do this forever. 

Unfortunately, his arms can’t, even with the support of the wall, so he pulls back reluctantly when he feels himself losing strength. Hinata whines— _whines_ —chasing after his mouth, shameless. 

“Sorry,” Atsumu whispers. His lips are definitely bruised. “I’m tired.”

“Oh,” Hinata says. He looks wonderful, eyes bright and cheeks flushed scarlet. Mouth red and slick with spit, a little swollen. _I did that_ , Atsumu thinks, and thrills with the realization. “Okay. You can let me down.” Hinata smiles. “We should probably talk, anyways.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, and puts Hinata down gently. Hinata stands, albeit shakily, and Atsumu steadies him with a hand. 

Hinata smiles at that, grateful and fond. “God,” he says. “We’re both kinda stupid, aren’t we?”

“Well,” Atsumu says, sheepish. “It was mostly me, I think. I started this mess.”

“I probably could’ve dealt with it better, though,” Hinata says, sounding amused.

“Probably,” Atsumu says, a little teasing, and Hinata laughs. Atsumu runs a hand through Hinata’s hair—it’s so nice to touch him casually again, even nicer to have what they have now. Hinata hums, presses up into the contact like a contented cat. Atsumu swallows. He wants to kiss Hinata again, he really does. But they have to get their affairs in order first. 

“Shouyou-kun,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. Hinata looks up at him. “I’m in love with you. I wanna date you. Is that okay?”

Hinata grins, solar. He is brilliant with joy. “It’s more than okay, Atsumu-san,” he says. Atsumu almost sighs with relief and happiness. “But,” Hinata adds, “I have conditions.” 

Atsumu exhales. “Okay.” 

“One, don’t ever avoid me again.” Hinata’s gaze is determined, serious. Atsumu nods fervently: _never, never_. “Two, be honest with me. All the time. Okay?” He reaches out and cups Atsumu’s face in his hand, smiles. “And I’ll do the same for you, obviously.” 

“Of course,” Atsumu breathes, “of course,” and then he takes Hinata’s hand, descends on him, peppering his face with kisses. “I love you, I’m sorry, I really love you—”

Hinata giggles, trying to push him off. “Atsumu-san, Atsumu-san, it tickles!” 

Atsumu grins, but he stops. Instead, he presses his lips to Hinata’s knuckles, making sure to look Hinata in the eye. “I’m serious, you know,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Hinata says quietly. “Me too.”

The quiet joy in Atsumu’s chest is almost too much to take. For a moment, he lets himself get lost in the warmth of Hinata’s eyes. It’s all wonderful and romantic and saccharine, until someone starts clapping.

Hinata whips around. “Kenma?” he squeaks, because it’s Kozume, a bag of chips tucked under his arm. “Have you been here this _entire_ time?”

Kozume takes the bag and pops a chip in his mouth. Chews, swallows. “Well, no,” he says. “I left a while ago. I went to get these from my bag.” He holds out the chips. “Want one?”

They both shake their heads. Atsumu doesn’t really know what to say.

“Congratulations, I guess,” Kozume says, smiling. “See, Shouyou? I told you he liked you.” Hinata groans, embarrassed. Kozume looks at Atsumu, golden gaze as sharp as a knife. “Don’t hurt him again, Miya.” The _or I’ll hurt you back_ is barely unsaid. 

“Yessir,” Atsumu says, straightening up and feeling a frisson of pure fear run down his back. 

Kozume softens. “Well, then,” he says, stretching. “It’s Saturday night. I’ve got places to be.”

“He means home,” Hinata says to Atsumu, conspiratorial.

“I do,” Kozume says. “And what about it?” He walks past them to the door, puts on his shoes. “I would’ve left earlier, but you guys just had to suck face near the door.”

“Sorry,” Atsumu says, very quickly. Hinata looks abashed, too. 

Kozume shrugs. “Eh,” he says. “It’s fine. Glad you’re both happy, and all that.” He opens the door, turns back to smile at them. “See you then, Shouyou. Miya.” 

“Bye, Kenma!” Hinata chirps. 

“See you,” Atsumu says. 

The door closes behind Kozume, and Atsumu and Hinata are left alone in the apartment. Atsumu drapes an arm around Hinata’s shoulders, pressing a kiss into his hair. Hinata laughs. 

“Wanna stay over?” he asks. 

Atsumu swallows. “You mean—like stay _over_?”

Hinata grins, mischievous. “Well,” he says, snaking an arm around Atsumu’s waist. “It’s up to you. We can go slow.” 

Ah, this is the Hinata that Atsumu knows best: bright, confident, enough to knock the breath out of his chest. Atsumu feels himself blushing again, mind racing. No, he doesn’t wanna go slow. There’s no way that the two of them can go slow—just look at the type of people they are, the type to chase victory and pleasure and anything else they happen to want.

“No,” Atsumu says. He clears his throat, presses another kiss to Hinata’s hair out of embarrassment. “It’s fine. It’s good. I’ll stay over.”

Hinata’s smile widens. “Okay,” he says. “Wanna eat first, though?”

“Sure,” Atsumu says. 

They end up ordering some vaguely healthy takeout—cheat day stuff—and catch up with each other. They haven’t talked properly in ages, Atsumu realizes, and it feels lovely to do so. It’s so easy to remember why they’d been close in the first place, and just how wonderfully they get along. Atsumu’s phone goes off in the middle of his impassioned speech about onigiri.

“Ah, sorry,” Atsumu says, checking it. “It’s Bokkun.” 

“Oh, Bokuto-san!” Hinata says excitedly. “Put him on speaker.” So Atsumu does.

“Hey!” Bokuto yells. Atsumu winces. “Are you dead, Tsumu? You weren’t answering our texts, so we thought you died—”

“God, can you not shout for once?” Atsumu says. “You’re gonna bust my eardrums, Bokkun. I’m fine.” 

“Hi, Bokuto-san!” Hinata chirps. 

“Is that Hinata?” Bokuto says, sounding just as excited. “Hi, Hinata!” A pause, some muffled speech. “Ushiwaka says hi too! Omi-kun says he wants to go home already.” 

Atsumu frowns. “Are you guys _still_ at my apartment?” he asks, frowning. 

“We’re just leaving!” Bokuto says. “We cleaned and everything, too. Omi-kun says you’re welcome.”

“Okay, cool,” Atsumu says, rolling his eyes. 

“So did everything turn out alright?” Bokuto asks. “Are you guys friends again?” 

Atsumu shares a glance with Hinata, a little embarrassed but more than a little giddy. “Yeah,” he says, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. “Yeah. And, uh—we’re going out, actually.” Hinata beams at him, blushing. 

“Oooh!” Bokuto exclaims. “Congratulations! Yeah, they’re going out now!” This last part is presumably to Sakusa and Ushijima, who say something unintelligible in the background. Bokuto laughs. “Omi-kun says congratulations on finding someone to ride you—”

Hinata blinks. “What?”

“Nothing,” Atsumu says, very quickly. He grabs his phone. “Bokkun, tell Omi-kun he can eat a shoe. And tell Ushiwaka thank you. I’ll buy him a gift card or something.”

“Okay!” Bokuto says. “Anyways, good to know that you’re alive, but I’ve gotta hang up now. I almost used up the rest of my minutes for this.”

“Oh,” Atsumu says. “Thanks. That’s nice of you. But—do you not have an unlimited phone plan?”

“Why would I?” Bokuto asks. “That’s for old people.” 

“What?” Atsumu frowns. Hinata bursts out laughing. “I mean—okay. Whatever. Thanks for checking in on me and stuff.”

“Bye, Bokuto-san!” Hinata says, grinning. 

“I’ll see you both at practice!” Bokuto says, and the call ends. 

Atsumu sighs, slumping against Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata hums sympathetically. “Tired?”

“I’m okay,” Atsumu says, remembering their previous exchange about staying over. He straightens up. “Not that tired.”

Hinata smiles mischievously, understanding. “That’s good,” he says. “Me neither.” 

After dinner, they shower separately: Hinata first, and then Atsumu. Half of Atsumu’s shower is a pep talk to himself: _calm down. Calm down. He likes you back. He loves you, actually. It’s just sex._ And so on. Eventually, he works up enough nerve to leave the bath, changing into some clothes he’d kept in the apartment. God, now that he thinks about it, he really used to come to Hinata’s place often. 

Hinata is waiting for him on the bed, reading a book and wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and boxers. When he sees Atsumu, he smiles lazily, putting the book aside. 

“Hi,” he says. 

Atsumu swallows, frozen in his tracks. “Hi.” 

A moment of silence. “Well?” Hinata says. He’s blushing a little, but his gaze is confident, almost challenging. “You waiting for something, Atsumu-san?”

For some reason, that flips a switch inside Atsumu, spurring him into action like some kind of horny, hormone-fuelled teenager. Feeling the blood rush in his ears, he clambers onto the bed, his hands on either side of Hinata’s head and his legs framing Hinata’s body. Hinata grins up at him and pulls him down. 

There is nothing chaste about this kiss: it is open-mouthed, tongues and teeth, roaming hands and bare skin. Almost filthy in its desperation. Atsumu does not care. His rational mind has flown out the window and is probably somewhere near Jupiter right now, doing research for a space program. Hinata hooks a leg around Atsumu’s waist—God, what is up with Hinata and _doing that_ —and Atsumu makes an embarrassing moan. 

They’re half-undressed and getting pretty into things when Hinata pauses. Sensing his hesitation, Atsumu stops kissing Hinata’s neck for a second and meets his eyes.

“Atsumu-san,” Hinata says. “What was that earlier about riding?”

"That was—" Atsumu swallows. "It’s not what you think. We were talking about horses. Equestrian sports. You know.”

"Horses?" Hinata says, bemused. "Is this because of Ushijima-san?"

“Yeah, he knows a lot about them,” Atsumu says, vaguely wondering why they’re having this conversation. 

Hinata hums thoughtfully. "I like horses," he says. "They're pretty cool."

"I'm not a horse," Atsumu says stupidly.

Hinata laughs. "Don't worry," he says. He grins, slow and seductive. "I'll ride you anyways."

Atsumu’s brain goes haywire. Images, sounds, and everything in between flash through his mind like some kind of video on crack. “You—” His voice breaks. “You—” 

“I mean,” Hinata says, devilish, “only if you want.”

“I do,” Atsumu says, embarrassingly fast. “I want. I want it.” 

Hinata grins. “Good,” he purrs, and flips them both over so that he’s on top, straddling Atsumu. Atsumu almost stops breathing. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life. 

“What about you?” Atsumu croaks. “Do you—want anything?”

Hinata’s grin widens, and he leans down so that they’re almost nose-to-nose. He looks like he’s really enjoying himself. “I’m alright,” he says. “Just enjoy it. And be good. Can you do that, Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu swallows, overwhelmed. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Yeah, I can.”

There are some moments in life you never forget, and this is one of Atsumu’s: Hinata seated on top of him, completely naked, moving like a professional. Atsumu just lies there, mind fuzzy with pleasure, and watches Hinata through his fingers. He feels like he’s dreaming.

“Well?” Hinata says breathily. His hands press down on Atsumu’s chest to steady himself. 

Atsumu peeks up through his fingers. “I just—” He swallows. “Thank you, I guess. I’m very grateful.” 

Hinata laughs. “It’s fine,” he says, his breath hitching. “I wanted to, anyways.” 

“All the same,” Atsumu manages. 

“All the same,” Hinata echoes. He pauses, tilts his head. “You know, it’s not fair that you get to see my face but I don’t get to see yours, Atsumu-san.” He takes Atsumu’s wrists gently in his hands, and pins them to the bed. “Okay?” he asks, looking unbelievably innocent. 

Atsumu’s embarrassment loses to his newly-developed thing for being restrained, which is so intense that he feels lightheaded. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Okay.” 

Hinata looks _very_ pleased. He leans down, presses a gentle kiss to Atsumu’s lips. “Good,” he whispers, his breath hot. “Enjoy it, Atsumu-san.” As if Atsumu could do otherwise. 

They don't get much sleep that night. Not that Atsumu would have it any other way. 

It’s easy for things to fall back into place after that. 

Dating Hinata feels as natural as breathing, and Atsumu has to wonder sometimes whether they’d kind of been dating before. Nothing changes all that much—he still considers Hinata one of his best friends, and vice versa, but now they kiss and do things a whole lot more, and Atsumu doesn’t have to hide the fact that he gets hard from Hinata sitting on his lap. Their friends listen to their story and laugh, or alternately, shake their heads from the combined stupidity. Suna and Osamu shit-talk Atsumu for ten minutes in front of Hinata, but eventually offer their sincere congratulations and force Atsumu to bring Hinata to the most embarrassing double dates in the history of the universe.

It’s nice. It’s really nice. 

“Hey, Atsumu-san,” Hinata says, a few months after they’ve started dating, “remember when I told you _I like you_ so many times when I got drunk, and you still didn’t know it was a confession?”

Atsumu groans. “Are you _ever_ gonna let me forget that?” 

Hinata laughs and kisses him on the cheek. 

“You’ve gotta forgive him, Hinata,” Sakusa says. “It’s hard for people to think when they don’t own a brain.” Bokuto snorts at this. 

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu says bitingly. “Literally nobody asked.” 

Sakusa shrugs, unperturbed, and takes another sip of his drink. They’re out at the bar with the team again, but this time, Atsumu sits next to Hinata, so close that their shoulders are brushing. 

“Can I try your drink?” Hinata asks Atsumu. 

“Sure,” Atsumu says, and takes a sip of it, holding it in his mouth. Hinata blinks, bemused, but then Atsumu reaches out to cradle Hinata’s cheek with one hand and kisses him, deep. The little sound of surprise and pleasure that comes from Hinata warms him down to the core. 

When they break apart, Hinata looks a little dazed. Atsumu grins, satisfied. They’ve been together long enough for Atsumu to learn how to play Hinata, too. 

“Like it?” Atsumu asks, more than a little smugly.

Hinata pushes Atsumu gently. He knows he’s been one-upped. “It tastes awful,” Hinata says. “Give me more.”

Sakusa mimes vomiting. Bokuto laughs. Atsumu ignores them both and takes another sip of the drink, and Hinata is the one who surges up to kiss him this time, parting his lips so that Atsumu can lick into his mouth. When they break apart, they’re both grinning, giddy. 

Hinata puts his arms around Atsumu’s neck. There's a lovely blush on his cheeks. “Atsumu-san, forget about the drink,” he says. “Just kiss me.”

“Well,” Atsumu says teasingly, “if that’s what you want—” 

Hinata shuts him up by pulling him down into a kiss. Atsumu can’t help but smile into it, unable to contain his joy. He feels Hinata smile too, and it’s the most wonderful thing on earth. 

Let it be known: Miya Atsumu loves his life. For real this time. He might love Hinata Shouyou a little more, though. 

**Author's Note:**

> so, uh. i'm not actually super experienced w/ horses, and i read a reddit post right after writing the horse part abt how horses are actually pretty dumb sometimes. so take ushiwaka's comments with a grain of salt. let's just say he respects them a lot, as do i. (if you're curious, they're playing fall guys on the ps4 lol)
> 
> also, i'm aware they moved... really fast. yeah. i don't--i don't know. creative liberties? woohoo...
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading! sorry if there was too much angst; I tried to keep it light! regardless, I hope this was to your liking, even if just a little :D


End file.
